


Cacaphony

by Elke Tanzer (elke_tanzer)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Introspection, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-01
Updated: 2005-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elke_tanzer/pseuds/Elke%20Tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Ninth Doctor episode "Dalek".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cacaphony

**Author's Note:**

> Violent content. Set after the Ninth Doctor episode "Dalek". Thanks to TaraLJC for beta-reading.

It was weeks later, relative time, that his enemy's words caught up to him.

He'd depended on his durable constitution to get himself and his companions out of a rather sticky spot, so although the TARDIS was out of danger, he'd needed to rest.

He'd closed his eyes, relaxing into what should have been a calm, restful state to help his body recover from the recent unpleasantness.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he couldn't open his eyes.

There were creatures all around him: creatures he wanted to help, creatures he needed to hinder, creatures who scrabbled and crawled their way through their lives without ever knowing anything but their own tiny viewpoints, creatures who thought they were better than everyone else although he knew that could not be so. In every direction, there were dangerous creatures, needy creatures, creatures whose own ignorance was just as dangerous as their intellect, creatures whose intellect was just as dangerous as their ignorance, creatures who wanted him dead.

He could see them all... couldn't look away, couldn't blink. His eyes were not open, and yet, he could not close this view, could not stop seeing them all. They pressed in around him, and the emotional walls he depended on to protect himself seemed thin and fragile.

He hated them all.

He tried to center his mind, to calm his thoughts, to focus. He tried to shield himself against the onslaught. Then he tried to run.

His legs were solid, chunky weights denying him open spaces and the freedom of running, just running. Beyond the teeming masses he could see corridors, endless corridors and doorways open to the skies, every color of every spectrum, the stars and planets and moons spinning overhead.

The floor beneath him was somehow stationary for what seemed the first time in his life. It disturbed him.

The miserable, demanding creatures pressed in on him, and he couldn't run. He had to make the decisions, no one else would, and everyone pressed in around him and he couldn't breathe.

He screamed, all rage and anger and fear and frustration and judgment, and all of the creatures were caught in a rampaging storm. They shrieked as sparks cascaded into flames and smoke began to fill the air.

The creatures writhed and reached for him, struggling and clambering atop one another as the injured fell. Small groups clung to each other as they made their staggering way toward him, slipping and stumbling over the fallen.

Blood and charred ash littered the floor. The pitiful sounds were everywhere around him, and he sensed rather than saw death finally begin to take the creatures.

His scream ran hoarse, then faded away to nothing.

It was quiet, and though a few small fires burned on, the smoke began to clear. The corridors he'd seen earlier seemed to have shifted positions, but they were there. The doorways seemed so far away.

Gravity was increasing. The stationary floor was pulling at him, the atmosphere above pressing him down. He struggled to lift himself, not having time to wonder at the weight of existing, and suddenly he was slowly floating above the carcasses of the creatures, some already starting to rot. Murky liquid pooled on the floor between the corpses, and he floated above it, trying desperately to escape.

If he could just make it to the nearest doorway...

Unexpectedly, a creature moved, trapped in the muck on the floor, and he turned to see it without slowing his struggle toward the doorway. Blonde hair, matted with blood, hung above shoulders which shook with fatigue and injury.

Rose stared straight at him, her pale face and accusing eyes halting his struggle for the doorway. Her voice was hoarse, and sounded as though it came from far, far away. "You've killed me."

He tried to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. They couldn't.

"You've killed us all. Everyone. What've you changed yourself into, Doctor?"

Metal walls reinforced with forcefields pressed close in around him, and hatred and disgust at himself stole his breath away. He couldn't feel his heartbeats over the wail rising from within his chest, burning its way upward like an explosion, consuming every part of him. He couldn't look away and he couldn't get out and he couldn't deny anything.

Her voice grew stronger, rising from the carnage and destruction below to echo in his mind. "Why are you still alive, Doctor? Why do you survive? Why don't you just die?"

He opened his mouth and the scream turned blue-white, crackling around him, enveloping him in pain and fire.

* * *

He startled upright, his eyes stinging as he blinked again and again, trying to clear his waking sight of the lingering images which had haunted his rest. His mouth felt dry, his throat raw, and his lungs ached. He tried to calm his breathing and slow his hearts' pounding scattershot rhythm. Though he tried to steady them, his hands still shook. He needed to calm himself. After all, Rose was waiting for him in the console room.

He managed one deep breath, then another. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, consciously slowing his breath, and his pulse began to return to normal.

_"You would make a good Dalek."_

His denial found its way into one simple whisper. "No, I wouldn't."


End file.
